


The Realm of Possibility

by Fyre



Series: Inverse Omens [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, I'm sorry I am weak, Inverse Omens meets Good Omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: The moment Aziraphale crossed the threshold of the shop, a thousand and one little things struck him as very, very wrong. Why were there people inside? When had Crowley relocated that silly statue of the… ahem… wrestling angels? And somewhere in the heart of it, he could sense the presence of a demon.He reached for the umbrella stand by the door for some kind of weapon, only to encounter the chilly marble of a statue and turned, frowning in befuddlement. The leering satyr grinned back at him. It was doing something rather obscene to a supine goat.Aziraphale made a face, whipping his hand away.“Crowley,” he growled. “If this is your idea of a joke…”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Inverse Omens [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482338
Comments: 63
Kudos: 217





	The Realm of Possibility

**Author's Note:**

> I am a very, very weak soul and wondered what would happen if my Inverse Omens lads ever crossed paths with the regular Aziraphale and Crowley. 7k later, I know. Not technically part of the Inverse canon, but rather a supplemental side dish to it.

The moment Aziraphale crossed the threshold of the shop, a thousand and one little things struck him as very, very wrong. Why were there _people_ inside? When had Crowley relocated that silly statue of the… ahem… wrestling angels? And somewhere in the heart of it, he could sense the presence of a demon.

He reached for the umbrella stand by the door for some kind of weapon, only to encounter the chilly marble of a statue and turned, frowning in befuddlement. The leering satyr grinned back at him. It was doing something rather obscene to a supine goat.

Aziraphale made a face, whipping his hand away.

“Crowley,” he growled. “If this is your idea of a joke…”

The curtain that led to the back of the shop – wait. He didn’t have a curtain there, certainly not one so ostentatiously patterned – was swept aside and a bombastic figure stepped through. The demon, he saw at once, and then he saw with human eyes.

“Oh bugger me!”

“In good time, darl–” The demon froze, his eyes widening. “Oh dear Lord…”

Aziraphale strode forward. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my shop?”

The demon wearing his face looked him up and down. “_Your_ shop?” His lips curled back from teeth that were growing thinner and sharper by the moment. “This is _my_ shop, angel. You’d do well to get out of that feeble mockery of an imitation corporation if you know what’s good for you.”

“Imitation!” Aziraphale sputtered in outrage. “I’ll have you know I have been in possession of this corporation since before _you_ set foot on this planet.”

The demon growled, a deep, ominous rumble that might have been impressive had not Aziraphale faced down Satan himself. The humans in the shop scattered, some of them hauling up or buttoning items of clothing as they fled.

“Tell me, _angel_,” the demon snarled, “what makes you believe you can walk into my domain and challenge me?”

“Your–” Aziraphale had not fought with anyone for a jolly long time, but he was damned if he would allow some impertinent face-stealing demon to lay claim to his shop. A sweep of his hand manifested a sword, not unlike the one he had borne in Eden, flaming and crackling beautifully. All for show, of course, but Crowley always said you could distract a demon with a shiny coin if you played it confident. “Begone, foul creature, by the command of Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Protector of the Antichrist.”

It didn’t have quite the affect he hoped.

“_You’re_ Aziraphale?” The demon’s features were sliding back into more human form. “_You_?”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale frowned. “Isn’t that why you’ve come after me?”

The demon burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea how wrong you are.” He swept into a bow that Aziraphale hadn’t seen for centuries – but had always adored – from the court of Charles II. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Aziraphale, the Serpent of Eden, Tempter, Corrupter, and general slut.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Sometimes, only Crowley’s vocabulary was the only thing to fit a situation. “What the actual fuck?”

______________________________________

Crowley wasn’t have the best day.

First him and Aziraphale had got caught in that thunderstorm and then, after driving all the way back into the city in the pissing rain, the Ritz was closed for repairs, which neither of them had heard about before. They’d sat in a crummy diner for a while – not one he’d ever noticed until today – and after he’d dropped the angel off at his shop, he’d headed home.

Or he’d meant to, at least.

For some reason he couldn’t understand, a young couple were living in his flat. Had been for quite some time, so they claimed. Weren’t too pleased when he blew the locks in and marched in like he owned the place.

None of his stuff was there. It was all… bright and colourful with photographs and canvasses of motivational things on the wall. They’d chased him through the flat as he checked every room, then chased him out the door, yelling about the police.

He’d ignored them, too shaken up.

That had been his flat for the past twenty years. You didn’t just show up at home and find random people in it. He’d tried calling Aziraphale, but the phone rang out, so he’d hopped back in the car and back in the direction of the bookshop.

“Angel!” he yelled as he ran through the door. “Angel, something…”

Demon. In the shop along with Aziraphale and…

Crowley whipped off his glasses, staring around. Oh, that wasn’t good. That was all wrong. He could feel it in the place. Smell it too. Sex and lust and gluttony all wafting on the air like incense. And some bugger had stolen his statue and put it right in the middle of the shop! Like it should be displayed for everyone to see.

“Angel!” he yelled again for good measure. “You all right?”

Aziraphale appeared through the doorway from the backroom and Crowley took four long steps towards him.

“Angel, something bloody weird is…” He stared at Aziraphale. No. Not-Aziraphale. Turquoise-blue serpent eyes stared back at him. Demon, his mind screamed. Aziraphale’s face, but a demon.

He grabbed the first thing that came to hand – a hefty book - and whacked the bastard across the head. Or tried to. Bastard was fast and ducked, quick as a snake, so it only skimmed the top of his head.

“My word!” The demon was almost purring. “I like that! The same fire.”

“Oh yeah?” Crowley snapped his fingers, flames surging. “Then you’ll love this.”

“Don’t!”

Aziraphale was in the doorway behind the demon with his face.

Crowley snuffed the flame instantly. “Angel? What the hell is going on? Why’s there a demon in your–” He paused, looking at the book in his hand. Aziraphale had plenty of books, but nothing that tingled with corruption and sex. “Oh! Eugh!” He threw the book back on his shelf, wiping his hand on his jacket. “Since when did you keep stuff like that in here?”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale said, hurrying to his side. He nodded towards the demon. “He, on the other hand, _does_.”

The demon uncurled his fingers in a lazy wave. “My shop, darling. All the better to tease you with.”

Crowley reared back a step, disconcerted. “Angel…”

“Perhaps you ought to introduce me before his brain explodes, my dear,” the not-Aziraphale said, watching unblinkingly and stroking a waistcoat that looked almost identical to Aziraphale’s, if he actually took care of it instead of wearing it down to the threads.

Crowley shot an imploring sidelong look at Aziraphale.

“I don’t quite understand myself, but it seems he’s Aziraphale,” the angel said, then winced. “I mean, as far as I understand it, he’s an… alternative version of me. What I might have been.”

“A demon.” Crowley said flatly. “You? No. Never gonna happen.”

“I’m afraid it did,” the demon said. He toyed with his fob watch, studying Crowley with those unsettling eyes. “Tell me, my dear, how did you Fall? I… overindulged according to the Heavenly mandate.”

“Like I’d tell you!” Crowley snorted, moving defensively in front of Aziraphale.

The angel touched his arm. “Crowley, we may need his help.” The undertone was there, the plea, for him to be nice and behave himself.

“If this is a matter of spirits and worlds, you’ll need more than my help,” the not-Aziraphale said. “I know someone who can probably help you, but before I can do that, I need to know. Why did you, Crowley, Fall?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “How do you know my name?”

Not-Aziraphale gave him the same exasperated look that Aziraphale sometimes gave him. “Think about it, darling. I’m standing here, a darker mirror of your angel. Who else do you think might be mirrored in this world?”

Crowley’s brain chugged to a halt. If there was a demon version of Aziraphale, then… no… no, that would be impossible. “Me? You know another version of me?”

“A different world,” Aziraphale murmured, hand still on his arm. “It’s possible.” He searched Crowley’s face. “You said you were going home. It wasn’t there, was it?”

Crowley shook his head. “So we’re what? In some alternate dimension where you Fell and I…” He froze, then slowly turned to look back at the demon that was apparently also Aziraphale. “The version of me. He didn’t Fall, did he?”

“No,” the demon said and there was something about the way he said it that made every alarm bell in Crowley’s head scream. “He didn’t.”

___________________________________

“There?”

Aziraphale braced his arms on the back of the driver and passenger seats of the Bentley. “Yes, just by those gates.” He glanced between the angel and demon in front of him. There was something going unsaid between them. “Do you know the place?”

The demon with his angel’s face smiled a thin, tight-lipped smile. “You could say that.” He pulled up outside the gates of the community centre, leaning forward to peer at it. “It’s a lot more intact than it was last time I saw it.”

“Crowley’s work,” Aziraphale said. “My Crowley, obviously.” He hesitated, then tapped the demon on the shoulder. “I hate to ask, after I’ve had you play taxi, but would you be a dear and wait out here?”

“What?” The other Aziraphale twisted in the passenger seat indignantly. “He has as much right to know what’s going on as I do.”

Aziraphale gazed at the angel, wondering if he could ever have been quite so soft – though with that undertone of steel. “And you can tell him, but there are some things that my angel doesn’t need to face.” He offered the demon a spare smile. “No offence, my dear.”

The demon was still staring up at the former church. “I can wait,” he said. He shot a careful look at his own angel. “It’s all right. Don’t need to remind the poor bastard what could’ve happened to him, do I?”

Aziraphale glanced at him, wondering if perhaps the other demon had paid more attention to what went unsaid than Aziraphale had realised. “That’s very… kind of you,” he said.

The angel turned away, but in the wing mirror, Aziraphale saw him hiding a smile. “We won’t be long,” the angel said, clambering out of the car. He drew the seat forward to let Aziraphale out, then bent to murmur something to the demon.

“It’s _fine_, angel,” the demon said. “I’ve got snake on my phone. I’ll be happy as Larry.”

The angel didn’t look convinced, but he fell into step beside Aziraphale, anxiously twisting his hands together.

“He wouldn’t have done any harm,” he said as they crunched across the gravel.

“I’m not worried about him,” Aziraphale said. He pushed open the pea-green door of the building and gestured for the angel to enter. “After you.”

The angel gave him an odd look, but hurried into the hall, Aziraphale trotting in behind him, though he had to stop short when the angel froze in his tracks.

Crowley was on his knees on the floor, paint-covered dungarees over a crop-top, his hair held back from his face by a polka-dot hairband. He was working on a banner, but looked up with a smile that wavered into an overt gawp when he saw them standing there.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathed.

“I know,” Aziraphale said, brushing around the angel to hurry towards his own. He offered Crowley a hand, drawing him to his feet, and took the chance to lift his hand and kiss the ring on his finger. “Describing it doesn’t really do it justice, does it?”

Crowley shook his head, still staring at the other angel. He turned and studied Aziraphale, then looked back at the other angel again. “This is…” He shook his head again. “I mean, it’s – you’re identical.”

“Not quite,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “I am far more charming.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley said with a grin. He drew his hand free and approached the other angel, who was still staring at him, wide-eyed. “Aziraphale too?” he asked.

“Why, yes.” The angel leaned closer, searching his face. “Good Lord… I never thought…”

Crowley cocked his head, then turned. “The other one.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank. “Dearest?”

“You left a demon outside,” the angel said. “A demon this one knows. A demon who I’ll bet” – the twist of pain passed across his face – “bears an uncanny resemblance to me.”

Aziraphale was by his side in a heartbeat. “You don’t need to see him,” he said, catching Crowley’s hands. “I know it– after everything– you don’t need to see.”

Crowley squeezed his hands, then rose on his toes and wrapped both arms around Aziraphale’s shoulder, burying his face briefly in his neck. “I do,” he said and Aziraphale could feel the rapid beat of his angel’s heart. Afraid, and no wonder. Crowley drew back and gave him that lovely, aching, bittersweet smile. “I can’t help if I don’t see everything.”

“But–” It’s your lifelong nightmare made flesh, he wanted to say, but the words shrivelled on his tongue. Crowley was exuding radiant calm. That was the angel who took demons by the hand and smiled and led them to tea and salvation. “Alone?” he said, throat tight.

“I think it would be better.” Crowley pressed his palm to Aziraphale’s cheek. “You have my back?”

Aziraphale could only turn his head and kiss his ring.

Crowley’s expression softened. “Put the kettle on. I’ll go and bring our other guest in.”

Aziraphale nodded, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as the angel hurried towards the door. There would be nightmares tonight, he could tell. You didn’t come face to face with your deepest fear and sleep easily.

He flinched when the other angel touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not the one we should be worried about,” he said, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

The angel looked in the direction of the door. “You love him very much, don’t you?”

Aziraphale glanced at him and saw only genuine concern and curiosity. “Yes,” he said, his voice more than a little unsteady. “Who wouldn’t?”

The angel gave him a soft, knowing smile. “Who indeed?” He patted Aziraphale’s arm gently. “We should put the kettle on, shouldn’t we?”

Aziraphale almost managed to smile. “Yes. Good idea.” He released a shaking breath. “Come with me.”

____________________________________

Crowley stood just inside the gate, gathering himself.

Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all.

Outside, there was a car and a demon and his heart was drumming against his ribs. A demon. A Crowley who had Fallen. Someone who he might have been, if Heaven had been more cruel and the Almighty merciless.

He took a shaking breath and stepped out through the gates, then blinked in astonishment.

A black Bentley, as gleaming and beautiful as his own, was parked by the kerb. He approached and ran his hand along the bonnet, not quite, but nearly, ready to look at the occupant.

The door opened on the far side and Crowley steeled himself, lifting his eyes and looking across the car.

The demon was leaning on the roof, staring back at him. Or at least Crowley assumed he was staring. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses covering his eyes. He also had one foot still inside the car. Ready to bolt, Crowley guessed.

“1934?” Crowley said, forcing his voice to be as calm and steady as it was around the kids and Hastur and everyone else who visited his centre.

One side of the demon’s mouth curled up. “Good eye,” he said. He lifted one hand and pushed his glasses up and Crowley was reminded at once of Aziraphale, only in shades of gold instead of crystal blue. “You drive?”

Crowley nodded. “Got a Bentley too,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” The demon’s expression brightened and he pushed his glasses all the way up to prop them on top of his hair. “Same year?”

Crowley nodded. “I liked the lines.” He patted the bonnet again. “They have more personality than modern cars as well.”

The demon nodded, closing the door. “Aziraphale hates it,” he said. “Says I drive too fast.”

Crowley smiled at that. “Mine always complains I cheat to get where I need to be.” He poked his hands into his pockets. “So…”

“Yeah.” The demon tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that might have been unnerving if he hadn’t had years of dealing with curious demons. “No offence, but this is bloody weird.”

Crowley’s breath exploded out in a helpless laugh. “Yeah. It is a bit.” He cocked his head. “You okay?”

It was a loaded question and they both knew it.

The demon stared back at him, then smiled. It was a small smile, but Crowley could tell how much it was worth, especially coming from a demon. “Yeah. Took a while, but I’m getting there. You?”

“Getting there,” Crowley echoed. “Yeah. Sounds about right.” He lifted one hand to pull the hairband off his hair and ruffled his fingers through it. The movement made the demon frown and Crowley lowered his hand. “What?”

The demon tapped the ring finger of his own left hand. “What’s that about?”

Crowley looked down. “Oh! Right! Yes!” He tilted his hand to show the ring. “Well, we kind of got married.”

The demon’s eyes widened and he made a sound like “Gne??”

“I mean, it was completely unofficial and Heaven were more than a bit stunned, but I–” Crowley added hastily.

“Don’t breathe a word to Aziraphale!” The demon burst out. “Oh God. We’ve barely even got as far as moving in together! If he knew we could get married, I’d be in a white frock before I could blink.”

“Oh! Right!” Crowley winced. “If yours is anything like mine, any excuse for indulging.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind, but–” The demon made a helpless flailing gesture with one hand. “I mean– it’s– well, y’know.”

“Y’want my advice?” The demon raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Make the first move. S’what I did. Told him I had a surprise, then sprang the frock, the fascinator, the rings and everything on him. Cried like a baby, he did.”

The demon’s expression went all soft and Crowley could feel the tide of love rippling off him. “Yeah. Mine’d react like that as well.”

“Roll of Andrex,” Crowley advised. “Just in case. And a cake.”

The demon shook his head with a quiet laugh. “You know,” he said, “you’re not what I was expecting.”

“Likewise,” Crowley admitted. “In a good way, though.”

“Not all hellfire and brimstone?”

Crowley snorted. “Have you _met_ my Aziraphale? He was the first demon I ever ran into and let’s just say that was being thrown straight in the deep end.” He made a face. “Not what you need, your first day out, cheeky bastard like that.”

“Eden?” The demon said, an amused look on his face.

“Oh yes.”

The demon laughed. “Ah, I know that one. Only I got the daft, soft bastard.”

Some things, Crowley was happy to see, were universal. “Well, we’re all a bit of a bastard, really, aren’t we? Soft or otherwise.” He offered a paint-spotted hand. “Nice to meet you. Crowley. Angel. Bit of a bastard.”

The demon gave him a rueful smile as he shook Crowley’s hand. “You do manners, do you?”

“When the mood takes me,” Crowley agreed. He glanced back at the community centre. “We’d better get back in. Aziraphale’ll be worrying himself sick.”

“Mm.” The demon circled around the car. “Said he didn’t want you meeting me. Said there were some things you didn’t need to face.”

“Ah.” Crowley sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. He knows what I’m like.” He gave the demon a brief smile. “Used to have nightmares about Falling, back in the day.”

“Ah. And here I am.”

“And still with Aziraphale, even if he…” Crowley paused. “Look, I have to ask. Your Aziraphale – bit of a cake fiend? Eat anything with or without legs on? Drinks like a fish?”

“Oh God, yes.”

Crowley shook his head, bemused. “How the Hell didn’t he Fall, then?” he asked. “Mine was done for overindulging.”

“Don’t look at me,” the demon said with a grimace. “As far as I know, I was done for asking questions.”

Crowley winced. “Ah. Yeah. Always a bit arbitrary, wasn’t She?” He shot a look Heavenwards. “Doing it deliberately, I bet.”

“Yeah,” the demon replied with a snort. “And She can sod off with it.”

Crowley laughed. “Personally, I prefer telling them all to fuck off, but each to their own.”

The demon gawped at him. “You _swear_? But you’re an angel!”

“What can I say?” Crowley laughed. “Humans are a bad influence on me.” He jerked his head. “Come on. Our Aziraphales are making tea.”

“Ugh,” the demon groaned. “Of course they are. With biscuits.”

“Inevitably.” Crowley pushed the gate wide and let the demon in.

____________________________

It was a very peculiar situation to be in.

Aziraphale was trying very hard not to stare, but it was rather difficult when the demonic incarnation of his self was sitting at the opposite end of the couch and the angelic version of Crowley was balancing on the arm beside him. The demon had an arm possessively slung around the angel’s hips and the angel had a hand resting on his shoulder lightly.

By contrast, his own Crowley was pacing back and forth, circling his end of the couch.

Even the house itself was disconcerting. It was a chapter house, but had clearly been turned into a home, with all the home comforts one could expect and an elegant balcony obscuring the high-pointed ceiling, thought judging by the trailing covers poking through the ornate railings, that was where a bed could be found.

“Just don’t see how it could have been the storm,” Crowley said. “No one else got shoved sideways, did they?”

“That we know of,” the angelic version said. “I did some googling and as far as I can tell, no reports of mass hysteria and people claiming to be from another world.” Of all the people in the room, he seemed the calmest, which was really quite uncanny. It had been a long while since Aziraphale had seen an angel who embodied serenity so clearly. He drummed his fingers on the demon’s shoulders, a pensive look on his face. “It’s reality. Very few people have the power to mess around with that.”

Crowley whipped around, looking down at Aziraphale.

As one, they said, “Adam.”

The demon at the other end of the couch growled. “That little bugger again.”

The angel shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He glanced upwards with a crooked smile. “I think someone was bored.”

Aziraphale followed his line of sight, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Oh. Oh dear.”

Crowley spun again, lunging down to lean on the arm of the couch. “So She can just… undo it, can’t She?”

The angel hummed, tapping his feet on his demon’s thighs. The intimacy between the pair was so tangible and the waves of affection so breathtaking that Aziraphale had to reach out and grasp his own Crowley’s hand. Only for a moment, only until his heart didn’t feel like it was flipping in his chest.

To his relief, Crowley squeezed his hand.

“Aziraphale,” the angel said, tapping his demon on the head. “The book’s here somewhere, isn’t it?”

The demon blinked slowly at him, as if not quite following, then smiled. “Of course, darling.” He waited until the angel moved his feet, then got up, striding over to an array of shelves along one wall. “Do you think it’ll help?”

“Can’t hurt,” the angel said.

“Which book is this?” Aziraphale inquired, rubbing his thumb along Crowley’s knuckles. There was something comforting in that contact.

The angel kneaded at the seat of the couch with his bare feet. “The Book of Raziel.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “How on earth did you manage to find a copy of that?”

There was something bittersweet in the angel’s smile. “Long story.” He glanced up as his demon stepped alongside the couch, the heavy, leather-bound book in his hands. It was a magnificent tome, in remarkably good condition. Aziraphale could tell from the binding that it was Medieval at the earliest. “You want to wait outside?” the angel said to his demon.

The demon shook his head and ran his hand down the angel’s back. “I’d rather stay, my dear.” He glanced over at Aziraphale and Crowley with those unnerving serpent eyes. “If you’re sensitive to holy items, you may need to step out.”

“I’m good,” Crowley said, staring warily at the book.

The angel propped the volume on his lap and flipped it open. Aziraphale’s breath was driven from his body at the power captured in those pages. The other angel didn’t even seem to notice as he turned page after page, dark eyes skimming the heavy leaves.

“Shit…” Crowley hissed out, turning his face away.

Aziraphale glanced at him, then at the other demon. The poor fellow’s skin was reddening. At first it only looked like sunburn, then his blue eyes started to darken and bloody tears leaked from the corners.

“There,” he rasped, pointing at a page and stepping back as soon as he had done it.

The angel turned his attention to that page, whipped out his phone, took a picture and slammed the book closed. It was as if the air returned to the room.

“I _hate_ when it does that,” the demon said conversationally, pulling out his handkerchief to dab at the corners of his eyes.

“Well, that’s what you get for looking at it, you idiot,” the angel retorted. He shoved the book back at his demon. “Crowley? You all right.”

Aziraphale rose when Crowley didn’t turn. “My dear?”

“Bit tender,” Crowley said gruffly, thumbing at his watering eyes. At least they were only swollen and there was no blood. Aziraphale took out his own pocket square and offered it. Crowley smiled crookedly at him, rubbing at his face. “Soft.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help squeezing his arm. “Always.” He glanced along the couch at the angel, who was studying the image on his phone. The demon was all but plastered across his back, staring at it too. “Did you find something?”

The angel looked up with a brilliant smile. “I think we did.”

_________________________________

“I’m not sure about this.” Crowley leaned against the bonnet of the Bentley.

The angel leaned back beside him. “It’ll work.”

They were back outside the place that should technically have been Aziraphale’s book shop and both Aziraphales were inside, sorting through supplies. Well, no. Not supplies. Couldn’t really call them that. Turned out if you got two overindulgent buggers in one place, they would find something to bond over.

Crowley glanced sidelong at the angel beside him. “You sound very confident.”

The angel grinned at him. “If you can’t make it, fake it,” he said. He scooted a little bit closer and nudged Crowley’s elbow with his own. “We can do this.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No,” the angel said firmly. “We _can_.”

“It’s reality,” Crowley protested. “I’ve never messed with reality before.”

“Bullshit,” the angel snorted and that would never stop being weird. Aziraphale still only swore one in a blue moon, but this angel dropped profanities like confetti. “S’what we do. Angels. Demons. We mess with the perceptions of people all the time. Shape the world to do what we need it to do.”

“Yeah, but on this scale?”

The angel looked at him and it was just bloody weird having his own face staring at him, giving him a slow, long thoughtful look from eyes that were dark as smoked amber. “You stopped time,” he said, which made Crowley’s heart give an odd twist. “At the end of times, you _stopped_ time.”

The question was on his tongue, but the answer hit him first. “You too?”

The angel nodded, then hoisted himself up to sit on the bonnet, legs dangling. “You did it against the Morningstar himself, against the legions of Hell and armies of Heaven. _Millions_ of creatures held at a standstill at your whim.”

Put like that, it did sound kind of impressive. “Well, yeah, but–”

“But this time,” the angel interrupted, smiling, “you only need to have the power to move _two_. Not millions. Should be easier. And on top of that, you’ve got double the power.” He thumbed his chest emphatically. “If we can’t shift things sideways when there are two of us at full capacity and not stressed out of our minds, no one can.”

Crowley smiled crookedly. “Everyone loves an optimist.”

The angel made a face at him. “I forgot who I’m talking to,” he said. “Would it help if I told you this is never going to work and we’re all doomed?”

Crowley laughed. “Now, that’s more like it.” He studied the angel. “You think we can do it?”

The angel nodded. “I know we can.”

The shop door opened and both Aziraphales emerged. The angel was carrying a crate of bottles and looking all too pleased with himself, while the demon was looking on indulgently, probably enjoying the fact he’d tempted an angel to take wine from a demon.

“It was very generous of you,” his Aziraphale was saying happily. “I was running short.”

“We’re not so big on the wine anymore, so better it goes to you than to waste.” The demon gave the angel a sunny smile. “There you go, my darling. That’s the last of your old favourite taken care of.”

The angel hopped down off the car. “Good.”

Crowley eyed him, bemused. “You sure you don’t want to keep one or two bottles?”

The angel shook his head. “Clean and sober, that’s me.” The smile turned brittle for a moment. “It’s better if it’s out of the way and you’ll enjoy it more than I would.”

His Aziraphale seemed to notice the shift in his mood and swept in to catch his hand, lifting it to kiss his knuckles. “We shall have dumplings tonight, my peach,” he purred, as if no one else was there to see them. “And who knows what misadventures to follow?”

The angel laughed fondly. “Shush, you,” he said, pushing his palm into the demon’s face.

Crowley saw his own Aziraphale go pink around the ears. No wonder, if turning into a demon made him so expressive, flamboyant and ridiculously demonstrative with his affections. “We ready to do this, then?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Angel, get the wine in the back.”

Aziraphale nodded, fumbling with the door and hastily loading the crate of wine into the back seat, steadying it with a miracle or two. “You’re sure you don’t need us to help?” he said, when he straightened up.

Crowley snorted. “Since when can you stop time?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at him. “I could still _help_ in some way.”

“Better not,” the other angel said. “Him and me – we’ve done this kind of thing before. Probably better if you two just stand back and let us do it.”

His demon circled around behind him. “Don’t overstrain yourself, my dear.”

The angel shot a wide, familiar grin back at him. “Would I?”

“Immeasurably,” the demon grumbled.

The angel laughed and turned back to Crowley. “Together, on three?”

Crowley hesitated. “Maybe a few steps away from the Bentley?”

“Oh! Yeah!” The angel trotted several steps up the street. “Course. Is that enough?”

Crowley gave the car a last, cursory look, then nodded. “On three. One, two, _three_.”

As he dragged power up, the angel reached up and wrenched power down. It should’ve gone off like a bomb, but instead it was like the world stuttered around them, like double-vision with two sets of images overlapping each other. The bookshop shuttered in and out of sight, overlapping the demon’s shop, flickering like a telly with a wonky aerial.

“Jesus Christ!” Crowley exclaimed, holding his hands steady in front of him. “We did it!”

The angel beamed at him. “Knew we could.” He held out one hand to Crowley. “It was… weird meeting you.”

Crowley nodded. “Likewise,” he said, then slapped one of his hands into the angel’s. “How do we–”

“You focus on yours. I’ll do mine. When we let go, we should slip back into the right place.” The angel squeezed his hand in an iron-tight grip. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“You wh–”

Too late! The angel let go of his hand and the world jarred to a stop, a single image, a single place. Crowley staggered, more relieved than he could say when Aziraphale caught him by the arm.

“The shop,” he croaked. “Is it right?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale sounded overjoyed. “You did it!”

“S’good,” Crowley declared, then his legs decided that it was a good time to just be noodles and he sank to sit on the ground.

“Crowley!”

Angel was by him, holding him up and he looked down into his empty hand. Little bit of paper, he noticed. Weird. But oh, tired. Too tired. He let his head droop onto Aziraphale’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

________________________________

The world had changed.

Crowley had pulled down power and taken the hand of the demon version of himself as the whole world shimmered and faded in and out of reality around them. The moment they broke contact, the visiting demon, angel and car were gone as if they had never been there.

“Darling?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley turned, a dazed, wavering look on his eyes. “It worked,” he said and took a single step towards Aziraphale before tilting like a falling tree.

Aziraphale lunged, catching him before he hit the road, and scooped him up as gently as he could. He was breathing at least. Shallowly, yes, but in and out and that was more than enough reassurance, as Aziraphale rushed him into the shop and through to the backroom. He set him down on the couch, stroking his hair back from his face and checking his heartbeat and all the silly human things that meant nothing to an angel’s form.

For five interminable minutes, Crowley didn’t move, ash-pale against the cushions, then – and Aziraphale nearly sobbed with relief – he gave a small snore.

Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged, a breath escaping in a shivering gust. He caught Crowley’s hand in his, kissing the pale fingers, the ring, the sharp knuckles. Bloody stupid angel, always pushing too far, too fast.

“You need to learn to be selfish sometimes, my love,” he murmured. Crowley made no reply and Aziraphale imagined it would be quite some time before he woke. He lifted the blanket down from the back of the couch, tenderly draping it over the angel and tucking him in. “Sleep well, darling. I’ll have supper ready when you wake.”

That done, he retreated into the shop and – for once – closed the door and blinds by hand, then locked everything up and sat down in one of the armchairs under the curving dome. He had thoughts to tend to and nowhere to put them and all he could think of was the demon that wore his angel’s face.

They both were and weren’t alike. He could see the likeness at the most unexpected moments, in the quirk of an eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, the roll of an eye. The demon was far sharper and much more tense and brittle than his Crowley, but then his Crowley was made to be an angel and to be kind. Was the demon kind? He’d have to be, sometimes, Aziraphale supposed, to still find himself so intrinsically bound to an angel.

Aziraphale didn’t know what they had spoken of when they first met. Something important. Enough that Crowley wasn’t a shivering wreck in his arms once more.

The angel, though…

It was strange that they had so very little and yet so very much in common. A shop that allowed them to hoard their very different collections, a wealth of delicious foodstuffs and beverages, fine clothing, manners when the occasion called for it. And of course, they both had their own respective Crowley.

Would his own angel have preferred him to be like that, he wondered. It was ridiculous to feel jealous and territorial. For Heaven’s sake, they were married and had been for months and there was no reason to ever doubt Crowley.

And yet a good, kind, sweet-natured angel who happened to look just like him was there…

He huffed out a frustrated breath and ran a hand over his face.

There was no need to be childish about it, to kick at the floor and act as if he had been spurned, but the thought was niggling away at him.

“Shut up,” he informed it, prowling to his feet. “Crowley doesn’t _like_ angels.”

He made a game effort to tidy up the shop, rearranging books that had been left dislodged by enthusiastic customers and tidying up any… spillages, while still keeping half an ear open for any sound from the backroom.

Some part of him was terrified that – for the first time in months – the nightmares would return. They had become so few and far between, he had hoped it was an end to them, but to see your nightmare made living flesh, to touch it, to know it could be real, there but for the very real Grace of God.

And yet, the only sound was that of a snoring angel.

Some hours later, when cleaning and tidying and reading was not diversion enough, he nipped out to Chinatown. Dumplings he had promised, and dumplings there would be. And possibly some sweet treats as well for good measure. And some of the angel’s favourite tea.

All the better to wake him with.

________________________________

Something smelled good.

Crowley rubbed his cheek on the cushion and yawned before evening bothering to open his eyes. Knew where he was. Could smell the books and the leather and all the other smells that screamed Aziraphale. And on top of that, the savoury scent of food.

“Y’really want me up,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Can’t just lemme sleep.”

“In my defence,” Aziraphale said with a scrape of cutlery on china, “the restaurants were going to close soon and I didn’t want you to miss out.”

Crowley hid a smile and cracked one eye open. “Could’ve preserved it,” he pointed out, then yawned again and rolled onto his back, stretching arms and legs out. “Have I been out for long?”

“Long enough,” Aziraphale replied. He was sitting on his chair on the other side of the coffee table, methodically doling out dumplings onto two plates. He looked up with an oddly-careful smile. “How are you feeling?”

Crowley pushed himself upright. The world was still a bit wibbly along the edges, but it was better now. “I’ll be fine.” He cocked his head, studying his husband. Aziraphale gave him another of those careful, tight smiles, and Crowley sighed inwardly. Of course, it wouldn’t just be difficult for one of them.

He got up and circled the table, then took the box of dumplings and utensils out of Aziraphale’s hands.

“What are–”

Crowley plopped himself down in Aziraphale’s lap. “You,” he said, wrapping his arms around the demon’s neck, “have nothing to worry about.”

Aziraphale ducked his head as if he had been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. “I didn’t–”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley caught his cheek gently, lifting his face. “I don’t even _know_ him. I know you. I’ve always known you. Just because somewhere out there, there’s an angel who happens to look and act a bit like you doesn’t mean anything.”

The demon huffed and pouted, but when he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s middle, there was something desperate in his grip. “He _is_ more like you.”

“Yeah,” Crowley murmured, drawing Aziraphale’s head to his shoulder. “And I know I’d kill me if I was around me.” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “Why would I want anyone else, when I have a husband like you who treats me like I’m the greatest treasure in the world?”

To his relief, Aziraphale grumbled some more and blushed.

Crowley stroked his hair, letting him hold on as long as he needed to. “Can you imagine me with another angel?” he added, smiling. “We’d be so bloody annoying.”

“Already are,” Aziraphale’s mumble was quiet, but there.

“Oh, shush.” Crowley reached down for one of the plates. “Shut up and eat your dumplings.”

Aziraphale nodded. He sniffed hard and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, lifting his face to look up at Crowley.

Crowley smiled fondly at him and kissed him gently on the lips. “You might be an idiot, but you’re my idiot and I wouldn’t change you for all the Aziraphales in all the worlds that might or might not exist.”

Aziraphale gave a damp laugh. “You’re either trying to make me soft or…” He jiggled his legs under Crowley’s bum. “Make me hard.”

Crowley picked up a dumpling and shoved it in his mouth. “Shush.”

The demon’s expression brightened, but he didn’t loosen the circle of his arms around Crowley’s waist. Didn’t blame him really. And after a day of walking on eggshells around two not-quite-them people, it felt comfortable and right to be back to normal.

They were halfway through the box of dumplings when Crowley’s phone rang.

His heart gave a little flip as he dug it out of the breast pocket of the dungarees.

“Expecting someone?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. “You look anxious.”

Crowley thumbed the speakerphone button. “Hello?”

“Well bugger me,” the demon Crowley said, sounding stunned.

“Is that–?” Aziraphale began.

“A little line in case they need to get in touch again,” Crowley said, grinning.

On the other end of the line, there was the sputtering and swearing of a very confused angel and demon. “How the hell did you do this?”

Crowley smothered a laugh in his hand as Aziraphale gaped at him, the wonder as warming as praise. “Magic,” he said.


End file.
